stephanie b poems

"Ruins"
By Stephanie Boyd
The tension grows as darkness does.
Starts small in the morning and like a hunger that goes unfed,
grows all day.
Till night strikes.
The anger, like a vampire. It
only comes out at night.

With crazy drunken eyes that aren't our own,
a high, spinning feeling edges us on.
Until the tension, cut with not a knife, but hurt
Bursts. Rampantly out into the open.

With broken hearts
we speak our broken english, broken words
In a home -only barely a house- whose walls crumpled down
around us
long ago.
We crumble them further, with palms like wrecking balls
This broken family's
-broken people's-
slow, unwinding,
suicide.

And though fear is told by our body's human nature
to be our first reaction
There is first relief, that the end,
soon will come.

Closer, with every curse splashed viciously
on the crumbling walls.
Hot tears drown the instinct
that tells us
"This is all so wrong."

Sad eyes hidden, too righteous are we - behind crazy, anger-drunk eyes-
like a hard front put up by a fearful child,
concealing the only beauty left.
The only vulnerability, it's all been taken away.
The fierceness and mortality have grabbed it and ran and died
from exhaustion
As our hearts, soon will too..

So it will never come again, the hope we held for so little time
For a blink of an eye, in the blink of an eye
that is our lives.
We are alone now, together
alone inside our hollow, pulsing bodies,
that are homes to nothing anymore.
In darkness that holds even darker things,
in darkness that allows even darker things to seem through it's tight grasp,

Relief falls into silence.

Alone with broken hearts and empty songs that are our false reality,
all together,
the eyelids fall, heavy, down.
As our hopes plunge with them.
Lower again.
More empty than last time.

We spin, into a world where our dreams,
can only barely still exist.

We wait until the day the crumbles are gone.

I mean, our ever-weaking hands, hearts...

We can only preserve these ruins for so long.




"Purple Raindrops on this Broken, Tainted Window"
By Stephanie Boyd

Are you so twisted now? Contortions;
how our pain can be warped into poses, misconcepted as beauty...
Wrap me up, warm me up
Build me up, this broken down mess.
It reeks of crashed glass on the floor of my heart, of our ties:
having slowly been snapping, ripping,
pulled to their limit, one by one.
Can't be bent anymore, can it?

it couldn't.... snap.

Now it's two. Even a welder won't be able to warp the tin and copper
beautifully together never again.
Skewed visions, or blurred?
Or glued together? simply placed? How high must it go...

Soaring, crying.

Tears are pouring from the sky,
yet the draught never ends.
Oh, to breathe you in..
to feel you breathing me in.

These rubber burns will last so long after the smoke is gone...
So small, untouched.
Ohhh.
Our dark purple seas are deepening.

please, hold me?...